


I Know Places We Won't Be Found

by FangsScalesSkin



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient History, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale tries every fruit in the garden of Eden, Developing Relationship, Except if they both deserted Heaven and Hell immediately to be together, Fluff, Fruit, Hand Feeding, I learned some facts about beer in ancient Mesopotamia while writing this, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mesopotamia, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Rating will go up eventually, Tenderness, Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangsScalesSkin/pseuds/FangsScalesSkin
Summary: “Your lot don’t appreciate you, my lot don't appreciate me, what do you say we both spend our time with someone who does?” Crawly makes his tone honey-sweet, rubs soothing circles into Aziraphale’s shoulders, lifts his wing in such a way as to let light dapple both their faces so the angel doesn’t feel trapped.“You don't mean… What I think you mean.” Aziraphale looks at him suspiciously.“Run off together, forget the sides nonsense.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Premise is loosely inspired by this very cute bit of art - https://anthony-juliet-crowley.tumblr.com/post/186823721678/when-you-break-your-chains-you-gotta-run-like

The Serpent finds the Angel cowering beneath one of the trees in Eden. He is making faint muffled sobbing noises, which is how the Serpent could find him in the first place, and leaning against the tree trunk as if for support.

For a bit, he watches the Angel dumbfounded, wondering what could have brought _this _on, and tries to decide whether to interrupt or not. The Angel did shelter him from the rain earlier, and one good turn deserves another, as they say. (Or rather they _don't _say, in Hell, but stuff them, the Serpent didn't stumble and trip into perdition to be held to another set of stupid arbitrary rules.)

The Serpent circles the Angel once on smooth scales, then shifts back to his demon shape. It's a testament to whatever anguish is going on in the Angel’s pretty blond head that he doesn't notice a literal agent of Hell standing a mere tree trunk-width away from him. 

“Hey, um, erm, Angel there.” 

The Angel’s head snaps up from where he’d squashed it against the sleeve of his robe. His blue eyes are watery, skin around his eyes red along with his nose and cheeks, and there are tear tracks down his skin. He looks miserable, and the Serpent thinks _oh no _as the sight plucks at his heart.

“What do you want?” His tone is peevish and hurt, and the Serpent can see he’s about two seconds from saying something to the effect of _Can’t you see I’m busy crying here, don't bother me about Heaven and Hell bunkum now, leave me alone, _so the Serpent says the first thing that comes to mind.

“I heard you crying. What happened?” He makes his tone soft, gentling, the same tongue that spoke the silken words which tempted Eve, while privately wondering what in the Heaven he thinks he is doing.

“Oh.” The Angel stares at the Serpent, surprise and suspicion fighting a sad wobbling lower lip. He opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“Come on, you can tell me. I won't breathe a word of it, I swear.”

“Oh, alright. If you must know...” There is an echo of the way he’d said _I gave it away! _about his flaming sword, and the Serpent nods encouragingly; he's gotten through the initial defenses and now the Angel is going to spill it all out for him. It's easy, and he has a suspicion that the Angel has been almost hoping for a sympathetic ear.

He slips an inch forward while the Angel is wringing his hands.

“It's been such, such a _rotten _day. This is the very first day! And it's been awful. First there was that business with Adam and Eve, _you _know all about that. After the rain stopped and you went to brag to your superiors or whatever it is you do, the Almighty asked me about the sword and I. I lied to Her! I lied!” 

The Serpent rolls his eyes at the acidic tetchiness accompanying the bit where the Angel presumes he went to brag. He’s pretty sure this angel has outright invented tetchiness, but he doesn't say that because he still feels sorry for him somehow. Wants to _comfort _him.

“Lucky you didn't lose your wings.” Or Fall, the Serpent thinks.

“But I _did!_” There's the anguish again, and fresh tears. Oh crap. “Four of them! Up until earlier today I was a Cherub! My very first duty on Earth and I’ve already gotten demoted for mucking it up.”

Now the Serpent bridges the gap between them, putting out a hand to pat the Angel’s shoulder consolingly. It's closer than they were during the rain - that time they never actually touched. The Angel glances at him with watery eyes before looking back at the ground.

“Now I'm a Principality and I’ve been told to stay on Earth and nobody has really explained what comes next. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do.” The Angel looks terribly lost, and the Serpent inches in again, moving from patting his arm to rubbing his shoulder. He's surprised he gets away with it.

“There, there.” 

The Angel’s face twists in some sort of agony, and the Serpent tenses for the shove pushing him away, but it never comes. There’s some sort of conflict going on inside the Angel, and it rages until finally he sighs, his shoulders and wings drooping.

“I was reprimanded by the Archangels… For losing the flaming sword. Got called a useless, scatterbrained excuse for an angel.” He’s nearly whispering, leaning in so they're almost chest to chest, and the Serpent realises with a start that the Angel is radiating warmth. He's the one tempted now, tempted to close the gap between them, leaning in subtly closer. He's a little startled when the Angel speaks again. “I was only trying to do what I thought was right.”

“For what it's worth, I’m sorry. I guess?”

The Angel blinks owlishly at him.

“For getting you told off? The apple thing?”

“Oh.” The Angel stares at him for an uncomfortably long moment, and the Serpent wants to kick himself for reminding the Angel that he contributed to his shitty day. “It's… I don't blame you, you're only a bit responsible. Great Plan and all. Besides, I chose to give the sword away.”

Now it's the Serpent’s turn to stare. This Angel seems to have absolutely lost it, if he's not jumping on the opportunity to blame a demon for all his misfortunes. At least he's lost it in an interesting way, in a way like giving away the flaming sword, a way that makes the Serpent want to stick around and see what interesting things he does next.

“And…” The Angel whispers again, more quietly, leaning in outright. “You're the only person who has bothered to be kind to me.”

_ That's not right, _the Serpent thinks. _This bonkers, compassionate, only a little bit condescending angel, and the only one who’s showed him any kindness is a literal _**_demon_**_? _

Maybe it's his sense of injustice (a regrettable trait in a demon when not paired with the desire for revenge) or maybe it's how wonderfully warm the Angel is, or the need for closeness that seems to come already pre-baked into a human-ish form, or the Angel’s bafflingly open gaze, but he brings his arms up to encircle the Angel’s shoulders in an embrace.

The Angel sags into the hug, face shoved into the robe on the Serpent’s chest muffling his sighs. After a few minutes of this he looks up.

“I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself and I’m talking your ear off and making your robe all soggy. I’m Aziraphale.”

“Crawly.” Crawly wrinkles his nose while he says it. It's not a very cool name, not very _him_, just whatever Lucifer decided the demon should be called when he’d only just dragged his aching self out of a pit of boiling sulfur. He hasn't had a chance to think of anything else, though, so Crawly it is for now.

“Crawly. Thank you, Crawly.”

“For what??”

“Being kind to me.”

“Just. Don't tell anyone, I have a reputation.”

Aziraphale chuckles.

“I won't. Who would I even tell?” Aziraphale slips his arms around the demon’s waist. Crawly must make a surprised noise, because Aziraphale lifts his eyebrows and looks Crawly in the eye. It's like being pinned in place. “This is very comfortable. If I am already after getting demoted, reprimanded, and abandoned on Earth only to end up literally embracing a demon, I might as well get the full experience before I’m smote outright.”

“Fair enough.” It's Crawly’s turn to melt into the hold. The warmth around his waist and against his chest is soporific, and he finds himself struggling not to let his eyes droop while in such a compromising position. The hanging branches of the tree they're standing under only hide so much, and either of their superiors would go absolutely spare if they get caught like this.

With a rustle, he extends his wings to shield them both from prying eyes. Beneath black wings it's warm and dark and safe.

In the shade of his wings, he can see Aziraphale’s blue eyes have the faint glow of divinity. He should feel envious of the angel for still having God’s favour, but instead he’s transfixed by how beautiful his eyes are, blue as the sky and eyelashes still wet with his earlier tears. Looking into those eyes, feeling the angel’s warmth, his strength overlaid with softness, Crawly gets the creeping feeling that all that warmth and beauty is about to inspire him to do something incredibly stupid.

The shape of the incredibly stupid thing becomes clear when the angel gives Crawly a tentative smile and Crawly realises he doesn’t want to give this up, doesn't want to end the moment and leave and maybe never see the one single interesting being he’s met ever again. He wants to keep this angel with him.

Crawly waits until the angel - Aziraphale, he reminds himself - has well and truly calmed down before moving onto outlining what he has decided is either a truly excellent plan or the worst plan ever conceived of.

“Your lot don’t appreciate you, my lot don't appreciate me, what do you say we both spend our time with someone who _does_?” Crawly makes his tone honey-sweet, rubs soothing circles into Aziraphale’s shoulders, lifts his wing in such a way as to let light dapple both their faces so the angel doesn’t feel trapped.

“You don't mean… What I think you mean.” Aziraphale looks at him suspiciously.

“Run off together, forget the sides nonsense.” 

“I never!” The angel’s consternation contrasts with his hands continuing to hold onto Crawly’s waist. He rocks back on his feet but doesn’t let go.

“Oh yes. D’you think I got so much as a thank you for tempting Eve into eating the apple? Nope. Just some sort of vague crap about being called on when I’m required, veiled threats, and the order to go back topside.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair. I mean! Not that I approve of you persuading the humans to eat the apple, I’ll have you know that I don’t. But they could at least recognise a job done well.”

“Mmmhmm. That’s what I’m saying. Look how they treat usssssss.” 

“Not very well.”

“Sssssee?” 

“Then again, if I agree, I will be in so much trouble.”

“You’ve already been in trouble.” Softly, softly. The angel could fly off like a startled dove if he says this the wrong way. “It’d only be more trouble if we get caught. We don’t even have any orders right now, could probably slip away without anybody noticing.”

“Everyone is going to be very busy keeping track of what Adam and Eve do,” Aziraphale says slowly, “In fact, I heard the heavenly host has been told to watch over them closely.”

Aziraphale sounds thoughtful, arguing back and forth half with Crawly and half with himself. Crawly decides to strike.

“Sssslip away with me. I’ll appreciate you.”

“You’re a demon,” Aziraphale protests weakly. Crawly thinks with a glimmer of hope that the angel didn’t say no. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“Lots of easier ways to do that. If this goes south I’ll be in trouble too, they don’t approve of being _nice _downstairs. Especially not to angels. Not sure what they'd do to me, but it wouldn't be pretty, that's for sure.”

“I don't know what you think you'll get out of this.”

The angel punctuates his statement with a squeeze of Crawly’s waist and what might be a coy look, which doesn't help with Crawly’s thinking process _at all_.

“I, uh. Nn. Company? Decent conversation? Actual freedom? I dunno what you want me to say, angel, there's a whole world out there, I don't want to be wandering it alone.”

Aziraphale purses his lips and looks Crawly directly in the eyes like he's searching for the answer there. Whatever it is, he finds it there, because he smiles slowly like sunshine breaking through the clouds.

“I believe you. It's up to you to make sure we don't get caught, however.”

“Leave it to me. I'm the master of sneaky, sneaky like a snake. I’ve got the eyes to prove it.”

Aziraphale titters at that. Then he comes over all serious, expression pained and vulnerable as if he's been cracked right open to his core.

“It might not be that hard. They probably won't even notice I’m gone, or care about it if they do.” 

“I would.” Crawly wants to bite his own tongue or yell at himself for how sentimental he's gotten so quickly - it hasn't been a whole _day _yet since they first met - but Aziraphale responds to it so fondly that Crawly doesn't want to stop. He knows which one of those wants is stronger already when the angel looks at him with deep, soft-eyed gratitude.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale pulls him close for another embrace. Crawly melts into the angel’s warmth again and never wants it to stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on chapter 1! It warmed my heart so much, this is the nicest reception I've ever gotten for a fic. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think - all comments are loved!

“Crawly, you absolutely have to try this, it's wonderful.”

“Huh? Oh right. Try the fruit before we leave. Right.” 

Crawly sounds preoccupied. Aziraphale glances over to see him standing before the apple tree looking up at it, having left the circle of Aziraphale’s arms to take a look around, which Aziraphale now realises will be his - and Aziraphale’s - last look at Eden.

“Oh. I suppose we must leave, mustn’t we?” Aziraphale has gotten at the berries, fingers sticky and discoloured with juice. Rather than think about what leaving the Garden really means, he’s chosen to taste the luscious fruit growing in profusion all around him. It’s such a good distraction he almost forgot he’s distracting himself.

“Too easy to find us here, even if the fruit is delightful,” he sighs. How disappointing. Aziraphale pops another raspberry into his mouth before moving on to plucking grapes from a nearby vine. A more delicate flavour than the raspberries, but delightful all the same. “There's so much here to try, I don't know how I’m going to sample it all before we do set off.”

He moves on to the peaches, plums, and nectarines with both gusto and single-minded determination. He's dimly aware that he's making a mess and he's going to be very sticky later, but it's secondary to sampling every delicious new food he can before he has to leave. If he would stop to consider it, he might agree he's on a bit of a rampage.

“Crawly, do come over here. You simply _ must _try these.”

“Alright, alright, don't get your feathers ruffled, angel,” Crawly grumbles, turning around to look over at him.

Crawly stops and stares, mouth slightly open, cheeks faintly pink, and serpentine pupils gone from slits to wide, round disks. He seems… Surprised? Aziraphale isn't sure exactly how to categorise the expression but he thinks he likes it, catching Crawly out. It's a dear echo of the demon’s surprise that very afternoon when they stood and spoke on the wall, but more alluring. (There's a thought to file away for later, when he's not so busy sampling all the fruit. Right now there’s pears and damsons and starfruit to think of first.)

“Have I got something on my face?”

“Yes, you do!” Crawly squeaks.

“I suppose I do. It's the fruit, you know. It's very lovely. Try one of these, there's a dear.” Aziraphale plucks and then holds up a raspberry to press against Crawly’s lips, not thinking of the action beyond simply wanting to share what he's discovered. Crawly opens his mouth a smidge, letting Aziraphale pop the berry in his mouth. As he does, Aziraphale feels something warm and wet brush his fingers, and realises it's Crawly’s tongue.

He snatches his hand back, face going warm. 

“‘S good,” Crawly says slowly, chewing the fruit, but with the wide-eyed gaze the demon has turned on him, Aziraphale thinks he isn't _ only _talking about the fruit.

Aziraphale takes a shuddering breath in, collecting himself. 

“It really is, isn't it?” He smiles tentatively.

He goes to pick a fig and a persimmon, intending to continue sampling the fruit, but Crawly catches his wrist gently before he can.

“Let me.” His golden eyes are gleaming intently. He sounds out of breath.

“Well, I, I,” Aziraphale stutters, face warming again and heart deciding to beat in his chest. He wants to agree, but it feels like he probably shouldn't. Although he can't think of a concrete reason why. And he's already in trouble, so it can’t make _ that much _ of a difference. “I think. Yes. Go ahead.”

Crawly looks unaccountably pleased, grinning widely, and tears the fig in two pieces with his claws, offering a half to Aziraphale, who is still thinking dizzily that nobody ever said he shouldn't let a demon feed him fruit, if it isn't fruit from the tree of knowledge, so this is all really alright then.

Half of Aziraphale hasn't caught up to agreeing to run away and that he’s truly making decisions Heaven wouldn't approve of, and the other half is working double time to justify his decisions, and while that’s happening he's biting into the soft flesh of a fig and it's very nice. Crawly is smiling again and that's also very nice. Aziraphale smiles back at him.

“What next?” Aziraphale takes the persimmon from him and eats it while watching Crawly poke at the trees and bushes a short distance away.

“How about one of these? Look, it’s got a little papery shell.” Crawly is holding up a physalis fruit and waving it around.

“How cute! I don’t think I’ll be eating the papery bit, though. It doesn’t look as nice as the rest.” Aziraphale wiggles in place, waiting for Crawly to make his way back over from where he’s collected an assortment of fruit in a gathered-up part of his robe.

Aziraphale half expects to be handed the little yellow berry to eat, but instead Crawly holds it up close to his lips in a mirror of how Aziraphale fed him earlier. He’s watching so closely with his physalis-yellow eyes that Aziraphale feels a prickle of heat across his skin as he leans in and takes the fruit in his mouth. For a brief second he feels the strange urge to chase Crawly’s fingers but gets a hold of himself in time. He leans back and chews. It’s sour sweet. 

“Rather good.”

Crawly smiles widely at the verdict and plies him with more fruit. Aziraphale tells himself he isn’t thinking of Crawly’s long fingers against his lips. 

Eventually the sky is beginning to darken in earnest and there’s only one kind of fruit the angel hasn’t tried. Although he’s sated, he can’t help looking at the glossy red apples hanging from the tree. All this bother over an apple. He’s shaken from his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder.

“Before we leave the garden we might as well see what all the fuss is about. Don't you think?”

Crawly is wearing a smirk, holding an apple in hand, offering it to him.

“Well, that’s a bit on the nose,” Aziraphale says testily, not wanting to reveal how oddly shaken the gesture has him. It might as well be a material reminder that he’s already allowed Crawly to tempt him. “Wasn’t getting Adam and Eve to eat one enough for you?”

“Come onnnn. Why not try all of it? Here, I’ll take the first bite.”

Crawly bites into the crisp apple, fangs scoring deep grooves in the flesh of the fruit. He chews for a bit, looking thoughtful, and then shrugs.

“I don't feel any different. Maybe it only worked once, or on humans. It tastes decent at least.”

“It could be we’re already supposed to know the difference between good and evil.” Aziraphale uneasily eyes the apple Crawly is holding out to him again. It feels a bit foolish of him to be so apprehensive of it, but what if it does have some sort of adverse effects? What if Crawly is unaffected because he’s already a demon? 

“If you don’t want the rest I’ll throw it away, it’s fine.” 

“Wait! No! You can’t waste food.” Horrified, Aziraphale snatches it from Crawly on reflex and takes a bite. It’s sweet and a little acidic and the texture is yielding and he waits to be struck down by a bolt of lightning or the Almighty’s righteous anger but it never comes. His shoulders sag in relief, and he diligently finishes the rest off before dropping the core.

Crawly is watching him with an eyebrow raised and a half a smile.

“All that fuss for nothing,” Aziraphale murmurs. As far as he can tell, at least. 

“At least we know it didn’t do anything to us,” Crawly stares past him like he’s lost in memory as he replies, “Better than not knowing.”

“It didn’t do my nerves any good.” His heart rate is atrociously fast and he forces it to slow down and stop.

Crawly snorts, mutters something that sounds like “your nerves”, and steps past, tugging on Aziraphale’s arm to get him to follow. He leads them to the gap in the wall of the Garden. He snaps his fingers, cleaning Aziraphale’s robe and face in an instant.

Aziraphale is about to thank him for the gesture. Then he turns back into a snake - just a much smaller one this time.

“Are you going to pick me up or will I have to ssslither up your robe?”

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale stares down at him in consternation. _ What? _ What is that supposed to mean? The snake - Crawly, he reminds himself, that’s still Crawly - stares back expressionlessly, because he is a snake. It’s a bit unnerving.

“We don’t want to be ssseen crossssssing the dessssert together. Pick me up and put me on your shoulderssss, I can hide in the foldsss of your robe.” All the hissing Crawly does in snake form is somewhat endearing, Aziraphale decides, since he can’t seem to control it. 

Aziraphale picks him up carefully and sets the length of Crawly across his shoulders like a very scaly scarf. No sooner has he done so than Crawly wiggles his way in under the top layer of Aziraphale’s robe.

“Right. Let’sss go.” 

“You’re going to let me do all the walking?”

Crawly hisses softly and doesn’t answer beyond that. Aziraphale rolls his eyes and almost prays to Her for patience before he catches himself. He steps out into the desert and has to squint against the glare of the sun reflecting on the sand, even now that sunset is drawing closer. The rain has erased Adam and Eve’s footprints, but he knows which way they headed; he’d watched them walking out into the expanse of emptiness until he could no longer pick them out, they were so far away, and he had fretted all the while. It is such an inhospitable place to be with child.

“Walk the other way. The oppossssite direction of Adam and Eve.”

“Why?” Aziraphale can’t see the immediate benefit.

“Heaven and Hell won’t look for ussss there. They won’t even think of that.”

Crawly is probably right; Aziraphale hadn't immediately thought of it himself. 

The trek across the desert is, dare Aziraphale say it, boring. Once he stops looking over his shoulder expecting to be hunted down, it's quite monotonous, especially after Crawly announces he's going to take a nap. This gives Aziraphale plenty of time to fret over his choices, over having to choose at all, and over failing to bring any fruit to snack on during the journey.

Later they take refuge under a shrivelled tree overnight and Crawly slithers to the ground and back into a human-ish shape. It’s then the full gravity of his decision hits Aziraphale with all the strength of a meteor falling to earth.

“What have I _ done _? Oh dear. Oh dear. I’ve really gone and done it now, haven’t I?” Aziraphale twists his hands in the fabric of his robe and paces in front of the tree, bare feet dragging in the dirt.

“If you hate it already, you… Could go back.” It’s said too off-handedly to be genuine. Aziraphale can’t bear to look at Crawly to see what sort of expressions he’s making.

“No, no, I can't do that. Even if no-one noticed I would know I tried to leave, and… And tried to run away from everything I was tasked to do. I’m a deserter.” Aziraphale releases his robe only to pluck at his sleeves in distraction.

“Angel,” Crawly says as if it pains him, as if he doesn’t want to but feels he must, “you haven't Fallen or anything. There's nothing stopping you.”

“Well, I mean I… If I went back and pretended none of this happened, I’d _ know. _I cannot - give myself a taste of this and then throw it away. It's like the fruit - once I have a taste for it…” Oh, he is a woeful angel. Absolutely the worst. “I’d want more.”

“Then _ have _more. Stop worrying about what you did and didn't do, and come over here to sit with me.” 

Now Aziraphale looks at Crawly again, who beckons him over with an outstretched hand and those same burning eyes that both intrigue and alarm him. He goes to him and is pulled down into sitting at Crawly’s side.

“I’ll give you what you want.” He leans his shoulder against Aziraphale’s, meeting him with an intense stare. 

“I don't know what I want.” Aziraphale shakes his head. “Except to not be alone.”

“Something we can agree on.” Crawly’s voice is soft and his expression becomes faintly sad, and it seizes Aziraphale with the most keen sympathy. What does it mean to be lonely in Hell, to be alone and cast out and suffering, as Crawly must have? To only find a kindred spirit in his supposed enemy? All at once his apprehension about Crawly’s motives evaporates. Aziraphale stretches his wings out around the both of them to keep out the cold of the desert night.

“My dear…” Huddled close to Crawly, Aziraphale wants to reach out to stroke his fiery hair, and holds out his hand as if to do so. “May I?”

“Hmm?” The vulnerability in Crawly’s eyes, there under all his bluster, sets Aziraphale’s hitherto ornamental heart beating quickly again. “Uh, y-yeah, go ahead.” 

Aziraphale closes the gap to pet and stroke at Crawly’s flowing hair. It’s surprisingly soft. Long and lustrous, Aziraphale curls a lock around his fingers for a moment before going back to stroke from the crown of Crawly’s head to the tips of his hair. 

“‘M gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that.” Crawly blinks slowly, leaning heavily against Aziraphale. The angel smiles indulgently down at him. 

“Then sleep. I will keep watch for wild animals.”

“Mm. Next time you have to try it too. Sleeping.” The demon lets his eyes shut and breathes out. He fidgets a bit and eventually goes still.

Aziraphale is left lightly petting his hair and staring out at the stars overhead, wondering what the future might hold, half optimistic and half apprehensive. At least he won’t be alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter this time! Thank you again to everyone who left lovely encouraging comments, it gave me the energy for writing and a few thoughts on what to put in future chapters.

Nobody comes looking for them in the desert. Aziraphale is exceedingly relieved, and tells Crawly as much. Crawly is smug, tells him he told him so. 

They don't linger long there, but head towards places with more clement weather, crossing untouched landscapes and uninhabited lands, and marvelling at the beauty of it all, so unlike either Heaven or Hell, an imperfect Eden. 

Even biting insects are a novelty at first, although that novelty wears off quickly and Crawly takes to snapping bugs out of existence when they get too close. Aziraphale chides him about the role of insects in the food chain, Crawly tells him he can get eaten by mosquitoes if he cares about it so much. Aziraphale lets the topic go. He doesn't like getting bitten either, he says, but has been having some ideas about stewardship of Creation and what to do with his time now he's a deserter from Heaven's army. He’ll leave the biting insects out of it, if it's for the sake of getting along with Crawly. That would be touching, Crawly thinks, if it hadn’t been about bloody insects. 

One clear night they lie out on soft grass and look up at the stars. 

Crawly silently picks out all the stars he had a hand in designing, and wonders if the painful ache in his chest is the absence of God’s love. He supposes that they’ll have scrubbed his former name from the records of who made what, up in Heaven. At least the stars themselves are still up there, they couldn’t take that from him. 

“It’s a beautiful view.”

Crawly snaps his head over to look at Aziraphale, who is staring up at the sky with a look of wonder. Perhaps sensing his gaze, Aziraphale turns his head to look at Crawly instead, and his brow furrows; Crawly isn’t sure at what.

“Is something the matter? You have this expression, it’s so…” Aziraphale doesn’t finish the thought, but rolls onto his side and reaches out to touch Crawly’s cheek.

His throat constricts painfully and he can feel hot, wet tears gather at the corners of his eyes. The angel opens his mouth, expression concerned, but Crawly cuts him off.

“Nnno. I don’t want to talk about it.” He’s not ready to bare himself that deeply to the angel, who probably wouldn’t understand.

“If you’re sure,” Aziraphale says, looking at him in a way that’s too much like pity, before turning back to look at the sky again. Crawly doesn’t really want to say anything else, relieved that Aziraphale isn’t needling him for an answer.

He looks back up at the sky too, blinking and furiously drying off his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. He feels kind of stupid, cajoling and convincing the angel to run off with him, then refusing to open up, but he isn’t _ ready_. What if Aziraphale tells him it’s his own fault, that he has no right to feel regretful or bitter? Admittedly it doesn’t seem like the angel to do that, but Crawly doesn’t know him well enough yet. So he keeps his pain close to his chest at night.

It doesn’t keep both of them from enjoying their journey together, and he’s thankful for that. It’s good that the angel sticks with him, really; he catches Aziraphale several times right before he plucks and eats berries that Crawly doesn’t remember seeing in the Garden of Eden. That probably means they’re not safe for eating. He chides Aziraphale and tells him that Heaven won’t be issuing him with a new body if he eats _ poisonous berries _ and _ dies_, so he needs to be more careful, especially since neither of them need to eat. It would be a wholly unnecessary and ridiculous reason to die.

Aziraphale nods solemnly. He takes to asking Crawly to pick fruit for him instead. This would be annoying if Aziraphale didn’t smile like the sun rising every single time that Crawly does it for him. Crawly melts a little inside every time, too. 

For a time, and Crawly couldn't say how long, he's not exactly measuring it, things are uneventful other than those little moments. They wander the empty places where humans aren't yet, migrate with the seasons like oversized birds, and circle each other slowly as only two immortal beings can, slow enough that he can't tell if they're drawing closer or only allowing the same level of intimacy as when they'd hardly met. It's companionable but not what Crawly had hoped for, on the wall and in the Garden. He _ could _change that easily, but he’s already absurdly attached to Aziraphale, and he's afraid of being judged and found wanting, again.

It’s the angel who changes that, the one who almost catches the both of them together.

The only warning Crawly gets is an unpleasant shiver down his spine when another source of divine power pops into being close by, along with Aziraphale’s frantic look as he pulls Crawly with him into the elm forest close by.

“_ Hide_,” he whispers.

“What? Where?” Crawly is hissing low, he doesn’t want to get separated in the middle of a bunch of trees. Separated, found, discorporated, and probably tortured by Hell for the rest of time while Satan knows what is done to Aziraphale.

“You - as a snake! Turn into a snake, you dolt.” 

A small snide bit of him wants to tell Aziraphale he can come up with a better insult than that, but it’s drowned out by the much bigger part which is nodding, unceremoniously changing into a very small snake, and letting himself be picked up by the panicked angel and placed on his shoulders. Like in the desert, leaving Eden. He knows what to do, and slides in under the upper part of Aziraphale’s robe, stilling himself so he isn’t breathing, only poking the tip of his snout out to look around.

He wants to ask Aziraphale what he thinks he’s doing, running in through the trees in no discernible direction when they should be fleeing for their lives rather than panicking and bolting any which way, but he’s honestly afraid to speak. He doesn’t feel less dubious about their survival prospects when Aziraphale ducks under some ferns and crawls into a hollowed out patch of dirt under a massive fallen tree. Aziraphale is _ shaking_, hands over his mouth, thankfully having remembered not to breathe.

Crawly feels the cold aura of the other angel get closer and then pause. 

“I could have sworn I sensed an angelic miracle.” This is one of those angels with a voice like trumpeting horns, blaring out what should probably be a mumbled note to self. _ Pricks_, Crawly thinks. “I don't sense anyone here now. Could have been nothing.”

A miracle? Aziraphale’s miracle to clean their blasted clothes. They’re in danger of the worst fate imaginable because Aziraphale didn’t want to rinse his robe off in a stream. 

“I’ll have to fill in one of those waste of teleportation forms for nothing, stupid paperwork.” With that complaint, the cold presence vanishes as abruptly as it appeared.

It’s another hour before either of them actually dare to move.

“I, I don’t understand.” Aziraphale crawls out of the dirt, stands and brushes himself off, hands still shaking as he straightens his robe which now has little ripped patches from being snagged by brambles. “I’m relieved, certainly, but what happened now makes no sense. Can you tell when there’s another demon or an angel around, Crawly?”

“I can. We ssshould have been caught.”

“Yet we weren’t. That angel couldn’t sense my aura. It's odd.”

Crawly chooses that moment to change back, form flowing into shape so he has an arm draped around Aziraphale.

“There you are.” Aziraphale smiles at him with such fondness that Crawly is as stunned as if he had been struck down. “It's such a relief, I thought we were going to die. Well, get discorporated and then probably ripped apart into our component atoms, which really would be death.”

“Can we not talk about getting smote into a pile of atomic goo right now?”

“Alright.” Aziraphale pulls him into an embrace. “It's _ such _a relief. This could really work.”

Crawly takes a deep breath. Forcing air into his lungs is calming, who would have thought it.

“Leave the miracles up to me for now. If they're looking out for angels using unsanctioned miracles or whatever.” As he's thinking of it, he repairs the angel’s robes and soothes the scrapes he got from the briars.

“Seems sensible enough. Oh, Crawly.” He squeezes the demon again and then lets go, beaming at him.

_ Oh, Crawly. _ Oh, Crawly what? The sudden blatant affection has _ him _mentally scrambling to keep up for once. 

Does the angel realise the effect that his smile has on Crawly? It feels like perhaps Aziraphale does realise it, when he smiles as Crawly leads them to a shallow cave he found to shelter from a rainstorm. It’s a while after they nearly got caught, not that Crawly could say how many days or weeks or months, he doesn’t keep track except by the inches of them drawing slowly together. Now Aziraphale takes Crawly’s hand to lead him deeper into the cave, and lies on his side and beckons Crawly to him. 

“That, uh, um, won’t be comfortable, if you stand up a sec, angel, I’ll just…” A thick bed of soft dry grasses appears on the floor with a snap of the demon’s fingers, covered by a sheet of plain linen, and Crawly lays down with him once the angel has repositioned himself.

“This _ is _more comfortable. I want to try sleeping, since you enjoy it so much. Now seems as good a time as any,” he says brightly. If this is the angel working a temptation of his own, it's a thorough one; Crawly can do nothing but lie down next to him, wants nothing more than to do so. 

He still might not be ready to open up and subject the sharp and jagged pieces of himself to scrutiny, but he’d probably do anything else Aziraphale might ask for with those soft eyes and that sweet smile. It would be dangerous if the angel didn't seem to be completely guileless, as far as Crawly can tell.

Crawly insinuates himself as close to Aziraphale as he can, shifting to get comfortable, and throws an arm over Aziraphale’s waist. Aziraphale looks surprised and pleased, snuggling close to his chest, and Crawly tries not to make an embarrassingly plaintive noise over how _ warm _ Aziraphale is and how comfortable holding him feels. 

“So I close my eyes, and that's all?”

“Yup. Breathe slowly, that helps. Why now?” It obviously has to do with avoiding that angel before, but it's dizzying to have Aziraphale be the one pressing in so close.

“Oh. Hm. I’ve been thinking for a while how terribly relieved I am, you know, it was such a fright almost getting discovered. I realised that I couldn't bear to be separated from you. You’ve become quite dear to me.” Aziraphale catches a strand of Crawly’s hair between his fingers, twirls it around. Is Crawly imagining the angel’s furtive glance at his lips? “I want to know you better, Crawly. This seems like an easy place to start.”

“Ssssure.” Bless it, why couldn't he be smooth? There's a dangerous hope filling him up with each second of Aziraphale’s soft regard. He can't help the grin that tugs at his lips.

After a moment the angel ducks his head to rest against the demon’s chest. At least now Crawly can think again; there's been an important point he kept forgetting while Aziraphale was looking at him.

“We should go where there are humans, it’ll be harder to find us in a crowd.”

“If you say so.”

“You’ll have to follow me, stop me causing trouble.”

“I never said I wasn't coming with you. Honestly, Crawly, you don't need to tempt me into it.”

It's a nice sentiment but Aziraphale says it so tartly, like he's offended at the suggestion that he wouldn't follow, that Crawly has to snort. 

“Now hush, I’m trying to see why you like this sleep business so much.”

So Crawly shuts up, and he's out in no time flat, as warm and cosy as a serpent basking on a heated rock. How long it takes for Aziraphale to fall asleep, he has no idea once he wakes in the mid-afternoon. Aziraphale is still in the same position at least, held tight between Crawly’s arm and chest. The demon’s face heats up at the way he must have held on the whole time.

The mystery of whether Aziraphale is being very quiet or just asleep is solved when Crawly stretches and dislodges him and gets a bunch of disgruntled noises and a bleary, confused look from the angel. His hair is sticking up on one side and it's unfairly adorable.

“Morning, Angel.”

“Morning…?” Aziraphale sits up, blinking some more. “Does waking always feel like that?”

“If you've done it right.”

Crawly looks at him expectantly, waiting for the verdict on ‘sleeping'.

“It was alright, I suppose. I can see why you like it, it's very calming.”

Crawly’s face must have fallen perceptibly, because Aziraphale rushes to continue.

“I don't think I would do it every night, but now and again can't hurt. I did like being held.”

“That's alright, then.” Crawly grins.

Aziraphale stands and stretches. “Where are we headed now?”

“Where the humans are. We’ll go in the rough direction of the garden and bump into some. They need water, right? Probably hanging around some rivers and lakes.”

“I hope it's as easy as you make it sound.”

“Ehh. Can't be that hard.” Crawly shrugs. 

They set off by foot and by wing. Mostly by wing, as it eats up the distance much quicker and gives fantastic views of the landscape below. Crawly shows off some aerial manoeuvres made possible by his long, thin wings, and delights in Aziraphale’s astonishment and praise. It’s been a long time since he flew for the joy of it, and never with someone who reflected his enthusiasm back at him.

Aziraphale flies in what Crawly thinks of as a more stately manner, beating wide white wings until he catches an updraft and can glide along. It gives him plenty of opportunity to look around him, and he points out interesting sights, chatting amiably and exclaiming at the craft and skill it must have taken other angels to create all the parts of it, explaining that he never made any of it himself. Crawly quietly stashes Aziraphale’s wonder over the making of the Earth away with his own tentative hopes of confiding about creating stars, all tangled up inside him with his anxiety that he’ll be judged about Falling.

Walking happens whenever they decide their wings need a break. They don’t need to sleep per se, despite Crawly developing a liking for it, but muscles get fatigued and night flying is more monotonous than flying by day. Aziraphale is the one who insists on landing to look around for a snack now and then, Crowley the one who insists on resting. The both of them come to appreciate a dip in the nearest river or lake or ocean; even if supernatural beings don’t sweat by default, it’s still refreshing.

At first Crawly is disappointed that when they land and rest, Aziraphale makes no move to lay down beside him. It must show on his face, because the angel softly says that he’s keeping watch for wild beasts while Crawly sleeps. Crawly nods, because that’s sensible. Aziraphale goes on to say he’ll sit next to the demon while keeping watch, suggests that perhaps he’d like to lay his head on Aziraphale’s lap, it’s surely more comfortable than the ground.

Crawly makes a lot of inhuman and frankly incoherent noises before managing to say he’d like that. He thinks there’s a hint of smugness to Aziraphale’s answering smile. It’s not a bad look on him.

That’s how it ends up that every night Crawly does sleep, he either has his head atop Aziraphale’s robe-covered thighs or ends up curled up against his legs or otherwise pressed against his sitting form in such a way to ensure contact. Aziraphale strokes Crawly’s hair, hums contentedly, and keeps watch. After the first few times Crawly is increasingly convinced that he’d even fight tooth and claw against Heaven _ and _ Hell to not lose the spine-melting comfort of getting his hair petted while falling asleep on Aziraphale’s lap.

Discovering human settlements eventually is something between an accident and a miracle. Crawly doesn’t admit to having half-memorised the view of the stars above Eden, of locating all the ones he worked on from his new perspective on the ground, but he did. It’s a vague indication of the direction they need to go, filtered through Crawly’s attempts to match up the locations of the stars. It’s enough to chance upon the wide river winding its way across green floodplains and marshlands and follow its path from above.

Neither are prepared for their first sight of a sprawl of buildings that stretches on and on for a mile. From far above, the scale is staggering, and with it the knowledge that humanity has created all this in the time the two have been wandering. 

Aziraphale makes to fly towards the city. Crawly calls him back.

“We can’t drop right out of the sky if we’re going to try to blend in, Angel!”

“Quite right, quite right. How do you propose we proceed, then?”

“We’ll land here and rest for the night, before heading onwards by foot.”

“You just want to lay your head on my lap again, you serpent.” Aziraphale smiles brightly at him.

“Maybe!” Crawly tries to escape the embarrassment of being seen through so easily by swooping down and making his descent to earth. It takes a last-minute course correction and some frantic flapping so he doesn’t crash right into the fronds of a date palm and make himself look like a total idiot.

“Crawly! Don’t rush so. You might get hurt,” Aziraphale calls down after him, making a much more controlled landing. By the time he catches up, Crawly has managed to bully his cardiovascular system into dispersing the blush away from his face.

“I’m alright, aren’t I?” He grouses, looking away from Aziraphale so his face doesn’t mount a second attempt at going red.

“Still! I don’t know if my miracles would work on you if you needed healing.” 

Crawly can’t help glancing up to see the open concern Aziraphale’s showing, and it does funny things to his insides. While he’s spluttering an attempt at an answer, Aziraphale starts to fold up his wings, about to tuck them away out of material reality.

“Angel, wait!” 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looks at him confused.

“Let me groom those for you.” The words come out in a rush and, whoops, he can feel himself going red in the face again. Inconvenient things, hearts are. “Before you put them away. ‘S gonna be a while before we get another chance, if we’re blending in with humans.”

Aziraphale goes incandescently red, too. So at least Crawly knows he’s not the only one letting his heart do its thing.

“I’m. Not sure about that.” Aziraphale bites his lip (charmingly, part of Crawly adds). “It seems very… That is to say. It’s been some time.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“I’m not worried about that!” Aziraphale’s voice goes higher, and he fidgets with his sleeves. “It just… It seems. Very intimate.” 

Oof. Crawly tries not to show his disappointment on his face. It _ is _ intimate, that’s why he wants to do it, that and Aziraphale’s wings look a bit ruffled. He wants to smooth them out and make sure Aziraphale will be comfortable. And maybe press his face against the fluffy downy bits if Aziraphale lets him.

“If you don’t want to, it’s alright.”

“I didn’t say that.” Aziraphale’s fidgeting intensifies, and Crawly watches bemused as several emotions follow across his expression in quick succession. He waits and lets the angel work through whatever he’s thinking. Crawly doesn’t pressure him, it’s not his style, he’s decided. He _ tempts_. Puts the options out there, lets the other person decide whether to follow through. He just has to say the right thing, make the right suggestion. He’s got a pretty good track record for results so far, but as the silence between them lengthens he wonders if he’s cocked this one up.

Then Aziraphale kneels down with his back to Crawly. He spreads and shakes out his wings. It’s all fairly abrupt.

“Go on, then. Don’t make me wait, I might lose my nerve.” The words are blunt but the tips of his wings quiver slightly.

“It’ll be nice, I promise.” Crawly circles him, then gently runs a fingertip along the bony edge of the angel’s left wing before sitting down to get to work. He straightens out feathers and inspects them for damage, smoothing over any gaps in the vanes. It’s methodical work, but relaxing. Judging from his quiet sigh and the way his wings have started to sag, Aziraphale must find it relaxing, too.

Before switching to the right wing, Crawly smooths his palm over the marginal covert feathers at the top of the angel’s wing, thinking of the strong flight muscles underneath and the true delight of having a companion to fly alongside. He smiles entirely to himself. Aziraphale is quiet as Crawly works on his right wing, right to left and bottom to top, making sure everything is in its place.

When he’s done with the top side of both wings he walks right around to inspect the underwing. He finds that Aziraphale is kneeling with his eyes closed, breathing slow and even. Pretty good considering he was nervy and fidgeting when Crawly started. Crawly very gently examines the feathers he couldn’t sort out from the other side. Once he’s all done he steps back with one of the loose feathers that had to be removed in his hand, stroking the pads of his fingers over the soft fluffs at the base. On impulse he stashes it in his robe.

“Wake up, angel, I’m done.”

Aziraphale blinks dopily up at him, and smiles that way he always does, like the morning sun coming up. He stands and stretches out, then folds up his wings. In a blink they’ve vanished out of sight. His shoulders remain slumped down, and to Crawly it looks like he must have let go of tension he's been holding there for a long, long time.

“Thank you, that was lovely.”

“Ehh, don’t mention it.” Crawly shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. The effect is spoiled by him grinning widely.

“Then let me do yours in return.”

“Oh, angel, if you insist.” 

Aziraphale titters at him and gestures for him to sit. Crawly complies instantly, sitting down cross-legged in front of the angel and stretching out his wings. Aziraphale hums tunelessly and puts his hands on the base of Crawly’s wings, digging his fingers into the softer feathers there. He works from there out along to Crawly’s wingtip. The comfort of it is sublime.

He’s not sure when or how he manages to fall asleep sitting up, but he jolts awake when Aziraphale taps him on the shoulder. The angel has the nerve to giggle at him, as if he didn't nearly fall over bonelessly himself when it was his turn.

“Thanksss…” Crawly doesn't even want to imagine what kind of soft, sleepy look he's giving Aziraphale, it's bound to be embarrassing. He’d be the laughingstock of Hell if any of them could see him like this. Demons didn't hardly turn their backs on each other if they could help it, grooming is largely a solitary affair, and the unending backstabbing in the age it took to solidify Hell’s hierarchy means asking for any sort of assistance or showing any gratitude is taken as a sign of weakness. Crawly hadn't been any good at climbing Hell’s ladder (or rather descending it) and now here he is falling asleep while an angel grooms him. He was a rubbish angel, and now he's an equally rubbish demon.

“One good turn deserves another.” Aziraphale chimes in, picking some of the dates from the tree and sitting down with his back to the trunk. “You look lost in thought, dear. How about you put your wings away and lie down to sleep properly?”

“What? Uh, okay.” Shaken out of his spiralling thoughts, Crawly folds away his wings and follows when Aziraphale pats his thighs for Crawly to lay his head down. Laying there using the angel’s soft thighs as a pillow, he decides Hell is full of complete and utter idiots. He’s the only demon making the most of existence and not looking forward to blowing it all up at the End of Days, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who left comments, you really make this a joy to write!!
> 
> Content warning for a very brief mention of cruelty to children and violence in one scene about human society, but the story moves on fairly quickly.

Human civilisation, Aziraphale has decided, is incredible. Uruk is a revelation all of its own, with buildings stretching as far as the eye can see. When he asks a resident how large it is, he is proudly told that the city itself is a square mile, and the temple complex a half mile all by itself. 

Everywhere he looks it seems that there’s something new, wrought by human hands, not a single miracle used. The ziggurat with its great limestone temple and the smaller temples with mosaic façades he admires from afar for the skill involved in their creation, politely not observing that they have been created in service to a false god. It feels as though that wouldn’t be taken very well, considering the esteem in which the temples are held - he has no desire to be thrown out only a mere few days after he and Crawly arrived, which could very well happen.

It’s hard to fathom that all of this has sprung up in the time that he was away. It doesn’t feel like he and Crawly were wandering that long. Then again, humans live short lives, their industriousness reflecting it. It’s strange and sad to think that Adam and Eve, the first humans, have passed away when he remembers them so clearly, and that they’ve left behind multiple generations who have lived and passed in turn.

He much prefers to marvel at the contents of the market, stretching out along the market square with hawkers selling foods and fabrics and sweet little trinkets like patterned beads. It’s charming how the humans enjoy adding ornamentation to their clothing and their dwellings. 

Aziraphale avoids the corner where there is bartering and trading for animals, loud with heated discussion of prices and the lowing and bellowing of creatures in enclosures awaiting sale. He notices when the haggling becomes yelling and the bleating of goats is suddenly closer, and looks up from considering a length of woollen fabric.

Most of the goats are stampeding. The ones that aren’t are harassing the fruit and vegetable sellers. The goat traders are running after them, bowling over bystanders in the hurry not to lose animals and money. The chased goats bolt at top speed. It’s all very chaotic.

Aziraphale frowns and turns to Crawly, who is nowhere near the goats and has not been at any time, and who in fact has been following after Aziraphale examining the market stalls. He’s grinning hugely in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with woollen fabric, and doesn’t even have the grace to look ashamed when Aziraphale glares at him.

“What? I wanted to see what they’d _ do_, Angel.” 

Aziraphale sniffs pointedly.

“It was rather evil,” he says, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

“Only a little bit! The evil is in how everyone chooses to react, whether they take it out on others.”

“Is that supposed to be any better?”

“They _ also _have the opportunity to do good.” He points, with a sigh, “look, there’s a couple of humans helping catch the goats. Happy now?”

“Not particularly. Aren’t we free of Heaven and Hell? Why make the lives of humans any more miserable? They last such a short time.”

“It doesn’t have to make them miserable.” Crawly’s grin is gone. “I gave them all choice, I want to see what they’ll do with it. Whether that’s be cruel, be kind, or be plain bloody weird. Aren’t you curious?”

Aziraphale is, a bit, but he bites his lip and doesn’t say it. He changes the subject instead.

“Oh, I don’t like arguing. What do you think of this cloth? They take hair from animals and weave it, imagine that!”

Crawly bends to examine the fabric and makes a comment about how it doesn’t look like it came from a sheep, because he’s never seen an orange sheep. The seller takes the opportunity to enthuse about the dyeing process and ochre and oh, that they mustn’t have this sort of thing where the two visitors are from, along with extolling the virtues of the wool and the flock it’s from. Crawly and Aziraphale listen bemused for a short while, truly hearing about the dyeing of cloth for the first time but unsure if it warrants the seller’s enthusiasm. 

Crawly drags Aziraphale away none-too-politely once he gets sick of listening. After exploring more until the sun grows dim, they both retire to the rooms Crawly’s found. Crawly settles his head on Aziraphale’s thighs rather than use a pillow, as has become his habit, and Aziraphale gently strokes his hair still thinking worriedly about Crawly’s mischief earlier. Travelling alone together made it easier to forget that Crawly is a demon, and perhaps Aziraphale is expecting more of him because of that, but it’s alarming to imagine him doing something very cruel. It’s as if Crawly can read his worries right from his expression, because he tilts his head back to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Look, if you're that concerned, I promise I won't do anything really properly bad, like legitimately _evil_. I don't want to hurt anyone, anyway, I only want to mess with them a bit.”

The surprising thing is, Aziraphale believes him. He sounds absolutely sincere, and he hasn't said anything yet in that tone of voice that he hasn't stuck by. He shouldn’t trust a demon, but he does. Crawly isn’t any old demon, anyway.

“How good of you,” Aziraphale says, prompting Crawly to splutter and look at him incredulously.

“I’m not good. Tempted an angel away from his post, didn't I? That's not very good, is it?”

“If you say so,” Aziraphale demurs. Whatever his protests, Crawly seems less ‘legitimately _ evil_’ the more Aziraphale gets to know him. In a way that has more troubling implications than if he were evil, implications Aziraphale is trying his best not to think about, but it does make him much easier to get along with, and dare he say, pleasant to be around.

Crawly surprises him in other ways, like when he asks Aziraphale what he thinks of Crawly’s name, one night after convincing Aziraphale to try braiding Crawly’s hair in the style some of the mortals wear it. Aziraphale is making an absolute holy show of it when Crawly speaks.

“What do you think of my name? It's not really a person name, is it?”

“No, I suppose not. You are a demon, dear.”

Crawly grunts noncommittally. 

“It's too squirming at your feet-ish. I’m going to change it.”

“Oh! What to?”

“Dunno yet.”

“Tell me once you decide, I’ll start using the new one right away.”

Crawly smiles at that, really smiles, crinkling up the edges of his eyes and all.

Whatever the thought process behind the decision, he can't really fault Crawly for wanting to sound less like a demon. If he was a demon, he wouldn't want to be one either. There's nothing Crawly can do about his metaphysical state, but he might as well change his name.

Aziraphale finds that he and Crawly stand out terribly, with their hair colours and their skin so unlike that of the humans, and - it must be said - their strange names, too, but the claim that they are travellers from far lands seems to be accepted without too much fuss. Crawly gets more dubious reactions when he lies and says that where he's from, everyone has eyes like his, but nobody really presses him on it. Especially not when he produces a pile of miracle-made money to rent somewhere to stay overnight.

Crawly is good at observing and copying humans, which is a relief. Aziraphale puts people at ease - his aura bleeding through at some subconscious level - but he isn’t so good at picking up as quickly how he should behave to not stand out. It gets a little easier after Crawly updates their clothing styles with a snap, a simple change that makes mortals stare less. Between the two of them they’re managing well enough, with Aziraphale radiating a calm that makes Crawly’s uncanniness less noticeable and Crawly knowing what to say and do via imitation.

What disquiets Aziraphale about humans is how the human capacity for kindness and creativity seems to be matched by their capacity for cruelty. He sees a man in the street strike at a small, crying child to make him be quiet, and the angel is filled with nearly unmanageable anger at not only the man but also everyone who sees him beat his son and does nothing to intervene. Is the rest worthwhile, if it’s accompanied by such callousness? Would She have designed humans to be capable of this? Or is this the consequence of them knowing what the difference is between Good and Evil, that some of them will choose to be so terrible?

Aziraphale looks back up from where he’d ended up furiously staring at his own sandals when he hears the screaming.

Two of the half-wild dogs that live off street scraps have attacked the man’s ankles, dragging his legs this way and that. He’s bleeding profusely and swatting at the dogs to dislodge them. The child has fled. Nobody moves to help. Aziraphale purses his lips, thinking that perhaps they’d all decided he deserves it, after his earlier actions.

There’s a feeling of a miracle or a curse about how the dogs are acting. Normally, they’re shy unless provoked. Aziraphale looks around. It’s not hard to pick out Crawly watching from the crowd, expression opaque. Aziraphale moves to stand next to him.

“Bit excessive, don’t you think?” 

“What?” Crawly raises an eyebrow.

“You cursing the man like that. I suppose he’s learned his lesson, but it’s very… Messy. He’ll probably lose his legs from the complications.”

Crawly looks at him very strangely, and Aziraphale gets the feeling his expression is being searched. 

“Thought you were joking for a second, I didn’t know how to react… Angel, _ you _did that.”

Aziraphale gapes at him. Is Crawly trying to mess with him? No, the demon seems equally as confused as Aziraphale feels. So Aziraphale reaches for his awareness of the miracle, and sure enough, it’s one of his. Doesn’t feel a bit demonic.

He cancels it out and stands staring at the man for a solid minute. It’s terrible of him, but he still doesn’t want to help the man up, or heal his wounds.

“Well, I… I suppose I was angry that nobody stopped him. From hurting a child, you understand. It sort of just, slipped out.” 

“Can’t blame you. He deserved it,” Crawly says darkly, glancing at the wounded man with eyes flinty in a way Aziraphale doesn’t recall seeing until now, his pupils tiny slits. He snaps his fingers once. “Something worse will happen if he tries it again.”

Aziraphale is relieved that Crawly isn’t judging him for his slip-up, and a bit worried that he is relieved about it. Did _ Aziraphale _do the right thing? He turns away from the scene, suddenly frightened that humanity might make him cruel, too, if inflicting pain on those that do wrong will make him become used to it, and not see it as something dangerous. He doesn’t have Heaven’s guidance to point him to the correct course of action. So he cannot, as he did in the past, have confidence that even in violence he is acting as an angel should, that all is as She intended. Crawly’s opinion is… He doesn’t know if he can rely on him regarding moral matters. Probably not.

Shoulders shaking, Aziraphale ducks into one of the narrow side-streets. He feels somehow ill. Aziraphale is unable to say for sure he did anything wrong, but his hands shake as if he were the one ripping scores into the man and tearing at his flesh. He can’t let himself accidentally use a miracle like that in his anger. He resolves to try to encourage the kindness in people instead, and only take that sort of retribution if it’s really, truly called for. 

It doesn’t banish the unpleasant taste in his mouth, but he stops shaking so much.

“Angel?” Crawly leans around the corner, body following a few seconds later in a way that should look ridiculous and manages to make Aziraphale’s lips quirk up a little despite himself. “You okay there?”

Aziraphale shakes his head, not trusting himself to answer, unable to explain his inner conflict to Crawly in case he wouldn't understand, or worse, that he would tell Aziraphale he did the right thing.

Crawly tilts his head, a thin swipe of his tongue wetting his lips. He reaches out to take Aziraphale's hand, and strokes his thumb back and forth over the knuckles. “Hey, I’m here. Whatever you're afraid of, I’ll look after us.”

Aziraphale manages a weak smile, pathetically relieved despite himself. Crawly is so good to _ him _ that it's hard to see how the demon could be bad, which is a bit alarming, because he must be somehow, otherwise he wouldn't have fallen in the first place. Well, he is sort of vindictive and mischievous and seems to enjoy frustrating and aggravating humans, but that's not the same as evil. It's so easy to write off that it's troubling.

“Speaking of which, we need to put more distance between us and the street if Heaven are keeping track of miracles. Y’know, like last time.” Crawly tugs on Aziraphale's hand, jolting him out of his fretting. Right. There's a more immediate worry.

“Of course. Lead the way?”

They retreat into the warren of alleyways and side streets between the dwellings of the residential area. As far as Aziraphale can tell, they're fairly lost by the time the temperature drop and air pressure increase heralding another angel manifesting occurs. He doesn't have time to think what to do when Crawly presses him back against the wall of the dead end they'd accidentally walked into.

“Crawly, are you trying to shield me? I really must protest!” It's hard to be properly chiding in a whisper. Aziraphale ducks around and stands in front of Crawly, and now Crawly is shoved behind _ him. _“If you get caught they’ll smite you immediately!”

“What about you?!” Crawly hisses. “You know they won't be pleasssed with you either.” He tries to manoeuvre around so that he’s in front of Aziraphale again.

What results is some absurd grappling, each trying to wrestle the other into being the one less exposed and protesting _sotto_ _voce_ that the other one needs to let himself be defended. It only ends when Crawly runs out of strength and concedes in a wheeze of breath.

It's only then that both realise the angelic presence has departed, like the absence of a ringing in the ears.

Crawly collapses laughing to the ground.

“Remind me never to wrestle you again. It's like fighting with a wall.”

“I _ was _the Guardian of the Eastern Gate up until not so long ago,” Aziraphale says primly, and then he’s sitting on the ground too, leaning against Crawly and laughing in sheer relief.

“Another close call,” Crawly says eventually, once the giddiness has worn off both of them. There's a wrinkle to his brow that Aziraphale wants to reach out and smooth away, but he abstains.

“I’m sorry, Crawly, I’ll be more careful with my miracles in future.”

“You're alright. It's strange, though, that we didn't get caught.”

There's a thoughtful look to him that lingers in the days that follows, and has Aziraphale wondering what Crawly could be thinking about.

Perhaps it's his potential change of name, for he brings the topic up once more over a large jar of questionable and very thick beer in a tavern one evening.

“How does ‘Crawleigh' strike you?”

“What for?”

“My name, what else.” He gives Aziraphale a look like he thinks he's stupid, which is a bit unfair considering Aziraphale's tipsy for the first time in his entire existence.

“It's a bit too similar to Crawly, isn’t it? If you're bothering to change it.” Aziraphale pokes at the dregs of the jar of beer with the long straw used for drinking it, a bit put off by the bits of bread left over. They’ve somehow gotten through the entire jar between them.

“Blesssss it, you're right.” Crawly frowns and slurps the last of the beer, making a horrendous noise as he drains it. “Back to the drawing board.”

“Sorry dear.” Aziraphale wobbles closer on his seat and pats Crawly’s hand.

“Ehhh,” Crawly shrugs. The beer is getting to him too, as he sways in place and hisses his words. “I’ll figure it out. Anyway, d’you sssssee what they're doing up there at the white temple?” 

“I haven't actually gotten too close, it seems a bit,” Aziraphale wrinkles his nose, “_pagan _for my liking. Plus the young ladies up outside the temple aren't wearing very many clothes.”

“‘Sssss a bit prudish of you. Adam and Eve didn't wear any clothing. Before.”

“Adam and Eve didn't expect me to take an _ interest_.”

“Not your thing then?” Crawly is watching him extremely intently, what for Aziraphale can't say. Judging him for his ‘prudishness' perhaps.

“Not with them.” Oh goodness, why did he put it like that? “I - I mean. It's not exactly becoming of an angel.”

“Hmm.” Crawly bites his lips as if he's about to say something else, but then shakes his head, nearly unbalancing in the process. “Sssuit yourssself. Take a look at the building anyway. Amazing what they’ve done with jusst, clay and ssstone and ssstuff.”

“I might. It probably can’t hurt to look.”

“That’ssss the ssspirit,” Crawly hisses very close to his ear, leaning on him. Aziraphale feels his face heat at his proximity and the warm puff of breath against his ear.

“I think. That we ought to go home.” Aziraphale says it without much thought, but it sounds nice. Home.

They stagger back to their rooms, possibly with the use of a miracle, and only get yelled at for talking too loudly once. 

The next day they both wake with appalling hangovers, made worse by being the first of such they've experienced. Crawly takes it out on the humans when he slouches to the window and pulls the curtain aside to see what the commotion is, discovers that it's market day, and with a snap of his fingers causes the wheel on a cart to break, sending vegetables spilling everywhere and causing what is presumably the world's first traffic jam.

Aziraphale winces at the crowing laughter Crawly lets out for a moment until the noise outside intensifies in the ensuing chaos. Then Crawly’s covering his ears and grimacing too, closing the curtains and flopping back onto the bed.

“Angel, my head hurtsssssssss.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“The beer’s fault.”

“No, dear, it’s your own. For using a miracle to make the cart break down. Now could you please keep quiet, I have a terrible headache.”

Crawly hisses wordlessly where he’s planted his face on the bed, nose pressed right into the mattress. This goes on for a minute before he sits up and grins.

“I have had the best idea.” He screws his face up in concentration, then looks supremely relieved. He waves a hand at Aziraphale.

Abruptly Aziraphale’s corporeal form stops feeling like the brain has been replaced by a dried fruit. It’s a relief. 

“Looks like miracles work on hangovers! Next time remind me to get the alcohol out before falling asleep. That was miserable. Don’t know why mortals put up with it. I mean, I do. But I don’t. ‘Cos I don’t have to. Anyway, I’m a genius and I’m going back to sleep.” Crawly slides himself back into the bed and closes his eyes.

“Yes, very good. Well done.” Aziraphale reluctantly makes to get up, not being in the habit of sleeping the way Crawly is, but Crawly pulls him back in under the linen sheet without even opening his eyes, snaking arms around Aziraphale in a way not too dissimilar how he coiled around in his serpent form before.

“I fixed your hangover with a miracle, it was very generous of me,” he mumbles. “Now keep me company and ssssleep...” 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, not that Crawly can see it, but lays down properly and pulls the linen sheets over himself. Nestling together comfortably comes very easy, and despite his lack of practice, Aziraphale finds himself drifting off. 

With a few exceptions when Aziraphale allows himself to be convinced to rest, Crawly sleeps at night and Aziraphale does not. It gives him plenty of time to think. Perhaps too much time to think, for he finds himself reflecting on his terrible fondness for Crawly, apprehensive that he doesn’t know what the demon fell for, afraid that it might be something he deserved condemning for, equally afraid that he didn’t deserve it. 

Up until now Aziraphale has tried so hard not to doubt the Almighty’s plans, all angels knew where that could lead. If he’s letting doubts start to lay down roots in him, surely he himself should have fallen already, fallen the very moment he agreed to run away with Crawly, or when he gave away his flaming sword. If he hasn’t, could it be part of Her Plan, mysterious and ineffable as it is? Is Aziraphale meant to feel his heart speed up when Crawly stands close? To be glad as he was when both of them evaded discovery, delighted as he is when Crawly produces some fruit or other treat he purchased at the market?

The great and the small questions become too much for Aziraphale some nights, and he surrenders himself to sleep, nestling down under the covers and holding Crawly, warm and breathing steadily as if he is a mortal rather than a demon. If they were both human, for all the good and the ill that brings, then Aziraphale wouldn’t feel the need to question himself over how dear Crawly is to him, how it seems to fill his limbs and weigh him down comfortably until he doesn’t even want to move away. It’s all very complicated. Being close is simple, even when perhaps it should not be.

In the day time he allows himself to enjoy Crawly’s presence without as much second-guessing. Or maybe it’s more that he can’t resist his charms when Crawly is awake, so long as nothing draws his attention too strongly to Crawly being a demon, so long as Crawly isn’t tripping people up right in front of him and cackling about it. Aziraphale has even caught Crawly doing the odd miracle to benefit mortals, seemingly as the mood takes him. He has a slight soft spot for the downtrodden and outcast which Aziraphale hasn’t let on to noticing. It’s easy enough to ignore his demonic nature as a result, even with golden serpentine eyes staring right back at him, because those eyes never look at him with malice.

Crawly delights and surprises him. One moment in particular sets his heart aflutter, and Aziraphale lets it. He could still his heart, but he doesn’t. He could let his doubts dictate to him, but he doesn’t do that, either. He’s already a deserter from Heaven, so he lets himself be delighted.

“Angel, I think I’ve figured it out,” Crawly grins, circling around a date palm to join him at the riverside, sending shy waterbirds scattering.

“What is it, dear? Your new name?” 

Crawly, still smiling, shakes his head. 

“Nah, not yet. I’ve figured out why we haven’t been _ found_. I think.” Crawly stands with hands on his hips, eyes aglitter in afternoon sunlight, utterly pleased with his own cleverness. “I know how we can avoid _ getting found_!”

“Oh! Oh goodness!” Aziraphale’s heart fairly _ leaps _ with the idea that he could keep away from Heaven’s fold, avoid the inevitable discovery and herding back to the flock, evade the punishments which would be severe enough to terrify him away from ever disobeying again. A stray thought says that makes him a _ bad _ _angel_, but he tries to ignore it. “What is it? I must know immediately.”

“Eager, Angel!” Crawly walks around him, continuing to grandstand, and Aziraphale lets him despite getting impatient. “They're looking for an angel, not an angel and a demon.”

“Obviously.” Aziraphale furrows his brow.

“So when we're close, I mean, right up on top of each other,” Crawly slides himself up against Aziraphale's back and holds him, the motion sudden, pressing them together from shoulder to hip and making Aziraphale feel hot and embarrassed and he can’t tell if that’s intentional or not, “our energy or auras or whatever would cancel each other out.”

He steps out of Aziraphale's space as abruptly as he stepped in, but the warmth lingers. Aziraphale turns to see him looking pink and flustered too. There’s something different about embracing like _ that _ than holding each other in sleep. Neither of them say it, but he can see from Crawly’s face that he’s thinking the same.

“Or at least that's what my theory is!” Crawly says, moving the conversation on with a mildly panicked note. Aziraphale takes a breath to collect himself.

“There's a logic to it, but how are we supposed to test it? It, ah, would also be a mite bit awkward to spend the rest of existence pressed against you so Heaven don't notice I’m here.” His cheeks must be rosy-red. Not that it sounds entirely bad, only extremely inconvenient.

“I could turn into a snake again and curl around your shoulders,” Crawly says, looking a bit dazed, pupils widening to the shape of almonds, before he shakes himself out of it, “which is, nngk, not a long-term solution, right, let me just…”

“Think I can…” He tears a strip of fabric off the hem of his robe, then writes on it with his claw, scorching a hellish pattern in a fiery wriggle across it. He shakes it for a bit until the infernal radiance fades.

“Take that and we’ll test it. ‘S my true demonic name, isn't it? So, stands to reason that it has a bit of a demonic energy to it.”

“It’s safe to touch?”

“As safe as touching me.” 

Aziraphale smiles slyly and takes the sigil-burned fabric, enjoying the spluttering Crawly makes when it catches up to him what he said. He shakes his head fondly and holds the material up to examine the curving sigil of Crawly’s demonic name. It’s a backwards, spiky reflection of heavenly script, and Aziraphale wonders if he could somehow read it in reverse to figure out Crawly’s original name before deciding it would be intrusive. 

“I just hold this?”

“I think so. Walk away a bit and I’ll see if I can find you.” Crawly closes his eyes and starts to count down from sixty. 

Aziraphale walks a decent distance and ducks down into a thicket of reeds, mud squelching unpleasantly between his toes. He can still see Crawly and waits for him to count to zero. Crawly doesn’t open his eyes. He brings two fingers to each temple and scrunches his face up in concentration, then takes a few wobbly steps in Aziraphale’s direction, then a few more, until he’s standing in front of Aziraphale’s hiding spot. He opens his eyes and glances around, searching, then noticing Aziraphale behind the reeds.

“It didn’t work, then.” Aziraphale tries not to sound as devastated as he feels.

“Didn’t say that. It was funny, I could only get the faintest whiff of an angel around the place, really faint, but when I concentrated on _ you _ in particular I was able to get an idea of where you were.” He holds his hand out to pull Aziraphale up out of the mud. He’s smiling faintly and when their hands touch, Aziraphale feels a curious rush of warmth and fondness that somehow feels not entirely Aziraphale’s own. “I guess because I wanted to know where you were, specifically you.”

“Let’s see about the other way around then, shouldn’t we?” Hope is budding in him, but it won’t bloom until he’s certain. It’s not much good if it doesn’t work for Crawly too. He lets go of Crawly’s hand, ties the fabric with Crawly’s name around his wrist so as to not lose it, and looks around for writing materials.

Aziraphale plucks a thin reed and tears a bit off his sleeve, the reed obligingly functioning as a pen with which to write his name on the scrap of robe. A shining golden ink materialises with his strokes until he completes his name with a flourish. He breathes on the ink to dry it, and when it’s safe for Crawly to touch, he reaches out to tie it around Crawly’s wrist, an inverted match to the one on his own. It looks fetching on him.

“Your turn, dear.”

“Right, right,” Crawly says, nodding jerkily, slow to tear his eyes away from the angel’s name encircling his wrist.

“I’m going to count down!” Aziraphale feels foolish counting with his eyes closed, like this is some children’s game of hide and seek. He nearly opens his eyes when he reaches zero, but remembers what he’d seen Crawly do.

Aziraphale lets his senses expand outwards from his vessel, first searching in general for any hint of demonic presence. He picks up a hint of it, but it’s faint and hazy and he can’t pin it down to a concrete location, blurry like smoke rising in air. Then he reaches for Crawly instead, tapping into the font of fondness for him that it seems harder to find the end of with every passing day. It guides him like a compass pointing true north.

Which makes it more confusing when he opens his eyes, standing amidst the date palms, and doesn’t find Crawly right in front of him. It feels like he should be right there, practically on top of him. After a few seconds Aziraphale looks up and laughs. Crawly is hanging from a tree branch in snake form, the band of white fabric standing out bright behind his pointed head, at the top of his ‘neck’.

“Ssssso, you found me.” He drops from the tree onto Aziraphale’s shoulders. There's that burst of fondness again. Oh.

_ Oh. _

“So I did.” Aziraphale runs one gentle finger down the end of Crawly’s snout. “I believe it worked. Change back for me, dear.”

The serpent shivers, and in a blink there's Crawly standing right in front of him. He bops Aziraphale's nose with a finger, grinning.

“I figured it out. You can probably use miracles without any busybodies showing up after you, now. We'll be way harder to find.” 

“You did!” Aziraphale throws his arms around him, hope feeling like a bright bloom under his skin. “You clever, wonderful creature.”

“Uh. That’s. Wow. Yeah. I did.” Crawly blushes, but holds on tight to him. Aziraphale realises part of the starburst of fondness and warmth he feels is coming _ from _Crawly. It’s a bit different from what the angel is familiar with, but familiar enough. He thinks he knows what it is.

“Thank you, my dear.” There’s a way humans express gratitude and closeness which Aziraphale decides is entirely appropriate for the moment.

He kisses Crawly’s cheek. Crawly squawks, the feelings redouble, and Aziraphale’s knees go a bit wobbly. Yes. He knows. It’s love. 

Crawly kisses him back, full on the lips, and Aziraphale does fall over, accidentally dragging the demon with him in a tangle of limbs and robes and indignant noises, followed by giggling. Aziraphale kisses him again, stunned by a supernova of shared emotion.

“You love me?” It’s hopeful but tentative because what if he’s somehow _ wrong. _

Crawly boggles at him from where he’s sprawled, mouth wide open. He makes a series of noises like “ngk” and “er” and “mmh” until he manages to splutter out a “how do you _ know_?”

“I am an angel. We can sense love. Although I needed to be touching you to tell.” 

Crawly goes very red indeed, and mumbles an “I forgot.”

Aziraphale beams at him and wriggles close enough to place his head on Crawly’s chest, listening to his racing heartbeat. He doesn’t even need one, which makes it charming.

“I think I - I think I’m falling in love with you, too.” An _ extremely _loaded choice of words. Aziraphale bites his lip over it the moment after he says it. 

“I’ll catch you,” Crawly says breathless and earnest, an impulse so true he doesn’t even have to think about it. He runs fingers through Aziraphale’s hair.

“I know you will. I _ trust _you.” There’s rightness to it. Perhaps he doesn’t always trust Crawly’s opinions, and oh do they disagree on some matters, but he already trusts Crawly with his life. Rather than answer, Crawly smiles - smiles, not smirks - and puts an arm around him. The love Aziraphale picks up from him, warm and steady now the angel knows to look for it, is an answer all by itself.

It’s later, after the sky has gone dark and they’ve managed to wear down the novelty of kissing enough to do anything else at all, that the demon speaks up again.

“I guess it’s a day for figuring out all sorts of stuff.”

“Oh?”

“I think I know what I want my name to be. What do you think of Crowley?”

“Surely that’s a decision to make for yourself, darling?”

A pause.

“I’m ‘darling’ now? That’s, yeah, um. Yes. What I was going to say. Of course I’m deciding for myself. I just, wanted a second opinion.”

“In that case… It does sound good.”

“Right? Right? Sounds good. That’s decided. Move over Crawly, I’m Crowley now.”

“Like one of those clever birds with the black feathers!”

“Even better. Clever bastards recognise each other.”

“I think we need to celebrate. Won’t you come over here and kiss me again, Crowley?”

As it turns out, they haven’t quite worn down the novelty of kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic and want to see more chapters, please comment! Even the smallest comment makes my day.


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